Sun Rain Chapter 65
byChapter 65: Extra 1: Those Young Days
When others learned to paint, it was either because they liked it or because their parents forced them. Fu Xuanliao was different; he learned to paint to slack off.
The art room at Third High School was located on the second floor of the comprehensive building, a spot that was neither too high nor too low, making it convenient for being late or leaving early. Fu Xuanliao signed up during the first semester of eleventh grade, and from then on, he squeezed in among a group of art students, enjoying a pleasant school life where he only had two classes in the afternoon.
Unfortunately, while he wanted to muddle through, the art room teacher disagreed.
The teacher’s name was Sun Yanfeng. Besides guiding art students, he also served as the middle school art teacher. It was he who, during an art class years ago, discovered Fu Xuanliao’s talent for painting and strongly invited him to study in the art room.
Fu Xuanliao refused.
At that time, fourteen-year-old Fu Xuanliao stood in the corridor outside the classroom, his backpack slung over one shoulder, a basketball tucked under his arm. His reason was sound: “I have to play basketball, no time.” As he spoke, he craned his neck to look downstairs. “Teacher, excuse me, I need to go claim the court first.”
Recalling the incident later, Fu Xuanliao felt that this teacher named Sun held a serious grudge. The last time, a student named Zhang Hao had also sneaked out the back door halfway through class with a huge commotion, yet Sun pretended not to notice. Why was it that when it was his turn, he was caught red-handed and dragged outside to stand in punishment?
But since he was already being punished, it would be a disservice to himself not to slack off. Fu Xuanliao found a shady spot, first pulled out his phone to message Gao Lecheng that he wouldn’t be going today, then set his phone to silent and tucked it back into his pocket. He relaxed his body and leaned against the wall, drifting off to sleep.
After an unknown amount of time, Shi Mu woke Fu Xuanliao up.
“You can fall asleep even here?” Shi Mu looked surprised. “Where’s your painting?”
Fu Xuanliao pointed to his backpack on the floor.
Shi Mu scoffed. “And you said you were coming to study painting with me. I think you just wanted to skip class.”
Having his true intentions exposed, Fu Xuanliao wasn’t embarrassed. He stretched and asked, “Finished painting?”
“Yep.” Speaking of which, Shi Mu suddenly seemed a little down. “Let’s go.”
He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, glancing into the art room as they walked. He saw several students gathered around a spot in the back row, admiring the work on an easel and discussing it heatedly.
Fu Xuanliao remembered whose spot that was and told Shi Mu, “Your brother hasn’t left yet. Let’s wait for him.”
Shi Mu didn’t want to wait, and his tone was sharp. “If you want to wait for him, wait by yourself. I’m leaving first.”
With that, he strode toward the stairwell.
Assuming something in class had upset Shi Mu, Fu Xuanliao had no choice but to chase after him and walk alongside him.
“What’s wrong?” Fu Xuanliao asked. “Who made you angry this time?”
Shi Mu disliked the word “this time.” “Nothing. I’m in a great mood.”
Fu Xuanliao could tell he was being sarcastic. “Teacher Sun likes you the most in the entire art room. If there’s a competition, he gives you the spot first. Everyone is too busy envying you.”
“Then why aren’t they looking at my painting?” Shi Mu demanded angrily. “A bunch of blind fools.”
Fu Xuanliao couldn’t respond to that. When it came to painting, he wasn’t even half-competent.
He only knew that Shi Mu was accustomed to being competitive and wanting to be the best at everything. He had even skipped a grade to start high school early, though that was partly due to the Shi family pulling strings and promoting the move.
As a friend, Fu Xuanliao felt he should be honest. “Your brother really does paint well. He’s especially good at landscapes…”
Fu Xuanliao meant that everyone has their specialization, and it was normal to be outdone in an area one wasn’t skilled in; Shi Mu should take it in stride. But Shi Mu became even more irritable. “Stop calling him ‘your brother.’ He wasn’t born to my mother, so he’s not my brother.”
Bringing this up touched upon another widely known scandal in the Shi family.
Unlike others’ perspectives on the matter, Fu Xuanliao felt that if anyone was to blame, it was Shi Huaiyi, whom he called Uncle, for his indiscreet private life, and it had nothing to do with the next generation. However, it was someone else’s family business, and he couldn’t interfere. Besides, Shi Mu was angry right now and probably wouldn’t listen to reason.
Fu Xuanliao simply shrugged. “Fine, he’s not your brother. Anyway, you two were born on the same day, so it’s close enough.”
The Shi and Fu families had some connection. Fu Xuanliao was born earlier, two years older than Shi Mu and half a year older than the Shi family’s eldest daughter, Shi Sihui. Before the age of ten, the three children always played together, so Fu Xuanliao often visited the Shi household, treating it like a second home.
Shi Huaiyi wasn’t home today. Shi Mu’s mother, Li Bihan, was feeling unwell. She came out only to greet Fu Xuanliao, told him to make himself comfortable, and then returned to her room to rest.
Shi Mu was in a bad mood. As soon as he got home, he locked himself in his bedroom and wouldn’t let anyone in, no matter who knocked.
Art class ended early. Fu Xuanliao did some homework at the dining table outside, then started dozing off again.
Since he was idle anyway, Aunt Fang, the Shi family’s housekeeper, cut him some dessert. Fu Xuanliao took the plate and went to the TV, randomly picking a disc to insert into the Blu-ray player, then settled back on the sofa to watch.
It was a Hong Kong movie from the early 90s—a collection of triads, gambling kings, and street thugs—full of fighting and noise, purely for nostalgia.
Midway through, he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Thinking Shi Sihui was back, Fu Xuanliao didn’t pay attention. It wasn’t until he heard Aunt Fang call “Young Master Shi,” that he turned his head.
It turned out to be Shi Meng. He had pulled up a stool and was sitting less than two meters behind Fu Xuanliao, also watching the movie.
What surprised Fu Xuanliao was that a full half hour had passed since he heard the door, and Shi Meng hadn’t made a sound, not even when moving the stool.
“Young Master Shi is back,” Aunt Fang, who had been in the kitchen, clearly didn’t know when he had returned. “Are you hungry? Would you like some fruit?”
Shi Meng shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
Aunt Fang pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit over there?”
Fu Xuanliao also patted the spot next to him. “Watch with me.”
Hearing this, Shi Meng looked up at him, then lowered his head, pondering something. After a long moment, he picked up his backpack from the floor and slowly walked over to the sofa.
However, he didn’t choose the spot next to Fu Xuanliao, but sat on the very edge of the sofa, putting more distance between them.
After watching for a while, Fu Xuanliao offered the dessert plate. “Want some?”
He was just being polite, thinking he shouldn’t be the only one eating.
He expected Shi Meng to either take it directly or firmly say he wasn’t hungry, as before. Instead, the boy hesitated for a long time, staring at the small cake on the plate until it almost seemed to bloom, before slowly reaching out and picking up the cake.
He even whispered “thank you” to Fu Xuanliao, like a mosquito humming.
Fu Xuanliao was amused and annoyed. “This is your family’s stuff. Why are you thanking me?”
Shi Meng paused, then lowered his eyelids in silent agreement, as if conceding the point.
The sound from the speakers drowned out human voices. Fu Xuanliao thought he heard Shi Meng murmur “Mhm,” but he wasn’t sure.
Shi Meng ate quietly, taking very small bites, his cheeks slowly moving. Catching glimpses of him out of the corner of his eye, Fu Xuanliao was inexplicably reminded of a rodent.
He pulled out a tissue and handed it over. Shi Meng flinched as if startled, looking up with a blank expression.
Fu Xuanliao couldn’t help but laugh again, discarding his previous comparison. He decided Shi Meng was more like a type of fungus accustomed to growing in dark, uninhabited corners.
Afraid Shi Meng would say thank you again, Fu Xuanliao preemptively asked, “Is it good?”
He was asking about the movie, but Shi Meng stared at him for a long time without blinking.
Then he nodded, answering solemnly, “It’s good.”
Actually, in terms of looks, Shi Meng was the truly attractive one.
Eating dinner at the same table that evening, Fu Xuanliao looked at Li Bihan, then at Shi Meng, and increasingly felt they resembled each other, especially their eyes, which were slightly upturned and beautiful. When silent, they exuded a cool detachment. If he didn’t know Shi Mu was Li Bihan’s biological son, anyone’s first impression would be that Shi Meng and Li Bihan were mother and son.
However, similar looks did not change Li Bihan’s attitude toward Shi Meng. Since Shi Meng came to the family seven years ago, she had been lukewarm toward her stepson. Everything outsiders saw Shi Mu have, Shi Meng also had. As for what outsiders couldn’t see, it couldn’t be forced, and no one could intervene.
For instance, at this moment, Li Bihan instructed Aunt Fang to place the soup pot in front of Shi Mu. Before the aroma had drifted far after lifting the lid, she took a delicate small bowl and ladled the first serving of fresh soup, placing it in front of Shi Mu with a loving smile, urging him to eat more.
As Shi Mu’s friend and a guest in the house, Fu Xuanliao was naturally treated well; the next bowl was served to him.
“Your Uncle Shi isn’t home today, so don’t be so reserved at the dinner table,” Li Bihan said. “What interesting things happened in the art room? Why don’t you tell us?”
Shi Mu gleefully recounted Fu Xuanliao’s embarrassing story of trying to skip class and getting caught and punished. Fu Xuanliao didn’t take it seriously, but Li Bihan advised him to focus more on his studies. “Your parents have high expectations for you. Don’t disappoint them.”
Fu Xuanliao nodded in agreement, thinking that family harmony was the primary productive force, and given how affectionate his parents were, it probably wouldn’t be his turn to take the lead for another hundred years.
When asked what he painted in class today, Shi Mu fell silent, unhappy. He put down his chopsticks and stopped eating.
Li Bihan quickly asked Aunt Fang to bring out the fruit, which was filled with sliced red dragon fruit. Only then did Shi Mu smile.
Although Fu Xuanliao had a sweet tooth, he didn’t particularly like this fruit, which had high actual sugar content but didn’t taste very sweet. He was only interested in the few strawberries lining the edge of the plate.
For the last strawberry, as Fu Xuanliao reached out to fork it, his fork met another fork coming from the opposite direction.
He looked up and saw it was Shi Meng. Fu Xuanliao immediately withdrew his hand, smiling at him, meaning, “You take it.”
Shi Meng, however, looked embarrassed. He didn’t know whether to withdraw his fork or leave it there. After a moment of internal struggle, he forked the last strawberry, bent his arm, and dropped it onto the plate in front of Fu Xuanliao.
It started raining that night, so Fu Xuanliao stayed over at the Shi house.
Shi Mu’s room was a suite with a small living area. Aunt Fang laid out bedding and blankets on the sofa, turning it into a simple guest room.
Young people have boundless energy. Fu Xuanliao hadn’t played basketball today, so he probably wouldn’t fall asleep until after midnight. Shi Mu was holed up in his room painting, so Fu Xuanliao didn’t want to disturb him. He had to find his own entertainment. He wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a can of beer from the fridge, and leisurely headed up to the Attic/Loft.
In his other hand, he held his phone. Gao Lecheng was chatting with him on WeChat, saying that since he hadn’t come today, there were fewer girls watching courtside. Fu Xuanliao replied that he wouldn’t go tomorrow either. Gao Lecheng understood, saying, I knew you liked the one from the Shi family.
As Fu Xuanliao walked toward the room in the Attic/Loft, he calmly typed back asking which one. Before he got Gao Lecheng’s reply, his foot hit something with a clatter, startling him.
He fumbled for the light switch on the wall, but before he found it, he caught a faint voice: “Don’t turn on the light.”
Recognizing the voice, Fu Xuanliao sighed in relief and moved his hand away from the switch. “It’s so late. What are you doing here?”
After a rustling sound, a person crawled out from under a table. This person stood up, a good half-head shorter than Fu Xuanliao, and looked straight up at him, their eyes still clearly black and white in the dim light.
After a long pause, Shi Meng replied, “Painting.”
The answer was unexpected yet logical. Although Fu Xuanliao didn’t understand the Shi brothers’ obsession with painting, he didn’t find it strange to seek out a quiet place late at night.
Since he was a guest, Fu Xuanliao tactfully turned to leave. “Then I’ll just…”
“Don’t go.”
Unexpectedly, Shi Meng spoke up to keep him.
After saying it, Shi Meng seemed to realize something was off. He paused, then added, “It’s cold here.”
Fu Xuanliao didn’t leave, though he couldn’t figure out the connection between the cold and asking him to stay.
Shi Meng sat down on the stool by the table, hunched over his easel, and continued painting. Fu Xuanliao found an unobtrusive spot, hopped onto the windowsill, pulled the tab on the beer can, shook the bottle, listening to the dense popping of countless bubbles, and the scratching sound of the pencil on paper.
The rain also continued, relentlessly hitting the ground, glass, and window frame. It was noisy but not disruptive, even boringly quiet.
Suddenly remembering that the person in front of him had a name related to rain (Meng, 濛, meaning drizzle), Fu Xuanliao casually asked, “What are you painting?”
The hand holding the charcoal pencil paused. Shi Meng seemed surprised that Fu Xuanliao would initiate conversation. After a moment of stunned silence, he said, “Haven’t decided yet.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he heard Fu Xuanliao chuckle softly.
It was so quiet that it was almost drowned out by the rain. Shi Meng had to strain his ears, then clearly heard Fu Xuanliao say, “You’re already painting, but haven’t decided yet… That’s interesting.”
Receiving such a comment in a place where no one paid attention, Shi Meng let out a very soft breath.
He heard Fu Xuanliao drink beer, then heard Fu Xuanliao ask him, “Don’t you painters care a lot about light? That one famous painter, he invented that ‘plein air painting’ thing?”
Shi Meng prompted, “Monet.”
“Right, Monet.” Fu Xuanliao continued, “Aren’t you afraid you won’t be able to see?”
“No,” Shi Meng said. “I’ve never gotten paint on myself.”
This non-sequitur answer surprised Fu Xuanliao. Using the faint streetlight filtering through the window, he looked Shi Meng up and down.
Unlike the other students in the art room, who became multicolored from head to toe after less than one class, as if they had rolled in a palette, Shi Meng had no smudges of paint on him, nor was he covered in dust from outside. The blue and white school uniform on him had a cool, pure quality, so clean he looked like he had stepped out of a painting.
Sensing a subtle hint of pride in Shi Meng’s tone, Fu Xuanliao thought, he’s just a kid after all, and smiled, offering praise. “Then you’re amazing.”
Shi Meng pursed his lips. “Thank you.”
Fu Xuanliao continued to smile. “I should be thanking you for letting me have the last strawberry.”
Recalling the strawberry incident, Shi Meng lowered his eyes and murmured, “Mhm.” He said, “I know.”
Fu Xuanliao was confused. “Know what?”
This time, there was almost no pause. Shi Meng said, “I know you like it.”
Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Fu Xuanliao pulled it out and lit up the screen. Gao Lecheng’s late reply read: The one who’s with you right now, duh.
Fu Xuanliao froze, instinctively looking at Shi Meng. When the other boy looked up, he quickly averted his gaze, only to feel confused afterward, wondering why he felt guilty.
Perhaps it was Shi Meng’s eyes, which, when they glanced over coldly, always gave the illusion of being seen through.
Fu Xuanliao typed back: The one with me right now is just a kid.
Thinking that Shi Meng was just a kid who liked to follow people around, and had just been playing hide-and-seek under the table, Fu Xuanliao breathed a sigh of relief.
The temperature dropped at night. Shi Meng sneezed while drawing. Fu Xuanliao jumped off the windowsill, walked to the other end of the art room, and closed the slightly ajar window. On his way back, he glanced at Shi Meng’s drawing.
It was an abstract combination of color blocks, and before he could figure out what it was, the pungent smell of paint made his nose twitch, and he turned away and sneezed too.
Sniffing, Fu Xuanliao joked, “You infected me.”
Shi Meng was noncommittal. He put down his pencil and offered a tissue.
Fu Xuanliao thanked him. As he took it, his gaze swept over Shi Meng’s outstretched hand. It was a very beautiful hand, with long, slender fingers, perfectly suited for holding a brush.
In a daze, Fu Xuanliao recalled a hand he had seen in the school infirmary—one that was cautiously extended but dared not touch.
Snapping back to reality, he felt he must be losing his mind. He had been half-asleep then, and there was a curtain separating them. What could he possibly discern from just a shadow?
Besides, he wasn’t familiar with Shi Meng. Their most recent interaction was probably during a winter camp in his ninth-grade year, when he rescued the lost little kid in the deep mountains.
How could it be him?
Thinking this, Fu Xuanliao dismissed the strange thoughts. He turned to see Shi Meng looking serious, as if genuinely distressed about infecting someone. Fu Xuanliao couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m just teasing you,” Fu Xuanliao said, pointing to the easel. “Keep drawing.”
Shi Meng widened his clear, bright eyes and watched Fu Xuanliao for a moment longer. Only after confirming he wasn’t sick did he turn back to face the easel.
He drew a couple of strokes, then stopped. When Shi Meng turned his head, he lowered his gaze again, his long, thick eyelashes concealing the turmoil in his eyes.
He said, lacking confidence, “Don’t look.”
“Why can’t I look?” Fu Xuanliao asked matter-of-factly. “It’s not like you’re drawing me.”
Despite saying that, Fu Xuanliao returned to the windowsill where he had been sitting, picked up the beer can, shook it, and tilted his head back to finish the last sip.
Simultaneously with the clinking of the empty can against the wooden table, the clear voice of fifteen-year-old Shi Meng rang out.
“Do you want to see?”
Swallowing the beer, which held an inexplicable bitterness for a young man, Fu Xuanliao was momentarily stunned, then blurted out, “Yes, I do.”
Rarely hesitating, Shi Meng replied, “Okay.”
The rain continued to fall. In the alternating light and shadow, the two occupied separate corners of the Attic/Loft, sharing the quietest night they would ever have together.
Long afterward, when Fu Xuanliao recalled that night, he, who didn’t believe in ghosts or gods, felt a sense of predestination.
He asked Shi Meng, “Were you already planning to paint ‘Flame’ back then?”
Shi Meng, who was currently painting, glanced up, wearing an expression that suggested he had heard a stupid question.
Fu Xuanliao wasn’t sure if the expression meant “Duh” or “In your dreams,” and he sullenly shut up.
Later that night, after their passionate encounter, while Shi Meng was still dazed and hadn’t pulled away, Fu Xuanliao cupped his chin and asked, “Why were you always hiding under the table back then? Was someone bullying you?”
Though restricted, Shi Meng still found a way to regain the initiative. He raised a weak arm, his fingertip touching Fu Xuanliao’s nose, his voice carrying the unique languor of post-coital intimacy. “Isn’t it you who’s bullying me?”
When old memories were brought up, it was hard for Fu Xuanliao not to feel weak. He pressed his lips together, leaned down, and wrapped his arms around the person he had almost lost, whispering “I’m sorry” and “I didn’t know” into his ear.
Seventeen-year-old Fu Xuanliao had once thought his relationship with Shi Meng would mostly stop there—their words didn’t mesh, their temperaments didn’t align, and at most, they would be nodding acquaintances.
Who knew that later, the situation would change dramatically, and everything would deviate from the track.
Because he didn’t know that the help he casually offered, the kindness he released from his heart, had planted a seed that would break ground and flourish vigorously for him.
He also didn’t know that because of his offhand remark, “Yes, I do,” all the miniature worlds Shi Meng would paint in the future would be filled with his shadow.
The night wind was clear, one rising as the other fell.
Sensing the body lying on top of him tremble slightly, Shi Meng gently exhaled, defeated for the umpteenth time.
This person could always easily grasp his weakness, making the small amount of hard-heartedness he had painstakingly built up utterly useless.
His fingers climbed Fu Xuanliao’s back, returning the embrace. Shi Meng also leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Actually, I was waiting for you.”
Even though he was accustomed to loneliness, during those many nights spent hiding alone in the dark, Shi Meng had longed for another person to appear, allowing paused time to flow again.
After a rustling sound, a large, warm hand firmly grasped Shi Meng’s hand, which was hanging by his side, without support.
Just like that night many years ago, the young man extended a hand under the table, palm up, and said to him, “No one’s here. Come out quickly. Aren’t you cold staying in there?”
The surroundings were so noisy, yet Shi Meng was always forgetful.
After all, so much had happened later, but he only clearly remembered that the young Fu Xuanliao possessed a handsome face that radiated charm. At that time, those peach blossom eyes were slightly upturned, revealing a slightly playful smile.
Just like the warm, blazing sun outside.
Author’s Note:
A lot has happened in the past two months. I apologize for the delay.
Next, there will be another extra chapter that follows the main text timeline. It will be sweet (I hope).
Then there will be the parallel world extras. This one might be quite long. I promised free extras as a benefit before, so they won’t be paywalled.
Also, I know many people who read this will feel Shi Meng was wronged, but personally, I believe true love is like this—it starts from an unknown place, and you can’t compare who gives more. As long as the people in it feel happy, that’s enough.
The above is just my personal opinion. As the author, I respect all different interpretations.
In summary, thank you all for liking this novel. I wish you good health and happiness every day!